


February: The Month of Love & Grief

by helloliriels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 28-day challenge, All different kinds this month, Art, Bad boy type, Coffee Shop, Drabble, Faux Album Cover, Faux Alcohol Ad, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Harry thinks they're adorable, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Meeting Harry at LAST!, One Shot, POV John Watson, Pictures, Sisters can be so embarassing!, Sketches, Valentine's Day, Watson hasn't come out yet, new post per day, safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloliriels/pseuds/helloliriels
Summary: February is the month of love – Love and grief are intimately related. You can't have one without the other.If there's anything the baker street boys have given us. It's love and grief. Plenty of it!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 21
Kudos: 35
Collections: February 2021 Johnlock prompt challenge from ohlooktheresabee





	1. Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has a secret.
> 
> Sherlock wants to know what it is. 

# Prompt #1: Secret

John has a secret.

Sherlock wants to know what it is. 

He overhears a game John is playing with his buddies in the dorm room adjacent one night, and is merciless trying to figure out just what Watson is hiding?

***

Sherlock's hound-like tendencies are usually charming to the young man, but not when they're pointed directly at poking through his carefully made walls so ruthlessly!

It had been a LONG week since the game night. 

Sherlock had sussed out everything under the sun, including; a white-collar crime-committing uncle, a compulsive liar cousin, a former pet cat, and a childhood bedwetting tendency. None of which, were exactly false. Or exactly comfortable.

The only thing that Sherlock had left alone (oddly) was John's cheating, alcoholic dad. 

John had no idea what was holding the would-be detective back on _that_ one, but he dared not ask.

...and so, after seven days of THIS, John had snapped. 

***

"It's you! You idiot!!!" Watson finally explodes. He can't take it anymore, "bloody satisfied??! Now leave off!" He knocked Sherlock's hand away in exasperation and walked past him. "Just," he continues, shaking his head as he goes, "You..." noise cutting off as he huffs angrily. "There, I've said it. I'm out! Happy?" Tossing his stuff in a duffle bag and preparing to storm out of their shared dorm room. 

-

Sherlock could tell he had upset his only friend. But he was not entirely sure why, or how? Or what it all meant?

All he knew, was that if he let John go NOW (like this), he might not see him back tonight. Or ever. The thought gave him pause. Something he should have _considered_ before pushing John _this_ far.

Would John go crash with Stamford? Move in with Mike and boys? Move out of room 221b?

He catches the look of hurt and anger contorting John's face then, and his confusion deepens. Frantically trying to backtrack in his mind palace to what he remembered of the game that had started him off on this stupid hunt? Nothing that would explain Watson's hurt at the moment, surely?

He hadn't been paying that much attention. If he was honest.

He had assumed it was a common first year's game. Getting to know each other. Or something to do with sports and hierarchy. Something he had yet to figure out. Either way, not his area.

Most of the group there already knew each other anyways. They had since primary. And Sherlock was probably the newest to the group.

He had quickly deduced the leader of the group, and the mindless lackeys, noticed John's above average intelligence, and had refused to participate in any proceedings once he had established the pecking order. That was the purpose of these games, after all. He imagined.

But now... he wished he had listened closer.

Maybe John would have just told him, if he had played the game?... and not upset him.

"John?" Sherlock tried using his best contrite voice. Tugging on the other teens shirt. Apologies were _usually_ effective. And he meant the apology! Meant it with his whole being _this_ time. But he was still _so_ confused and he needed answers. It was imperative.

Sherlock could never let something go without 'playing 50 questions' as Watson called it. Even when he tried to suppress it. It came out. In bursts. Deducing by smell, sight, touch, taste, or any other method he could use to work around the halt on verbal questions. But it burned his insides to NOT be able to ask.

He was on tenuous ground here though, like walking out onto thin ice. And he knew it. 

Questions had,

after all,

gotten him into this pickle.

"John, wait." Sherlock begged. (He never begged. It was a matter of principle) ..."John?" more urgently this time.

Watson stopped just inside their doorway. Half turning to face Sherlock. At least that was something!

Sherlock raced to him, grappling to hold of John's thin Abercrombie t-shirt, to hold him there, physically if he must, until he had an answer that made some sense...

-

Watson looked down at his shirt, now twisted in Sherlock's hands. And narrowed his eyes... 

The madman was grasping for dear life onto his favorite tee.

Fine. 

If Sherlock wanted to hear it all. He'd unload. Why not? This couldn't get any _worse._

"Listen, Sherlock." He stated, breathing out all of his anger at once. And recognizing that look of desperation on Sherlock's face for what it was: A burning need to understand. To get answers to a puzzle. To be let in. _To not be_ shut out. "Sherlock," He said softly. He wanted to make sure that there were NO misunderstandings here between them, "I'm not going to change who I am. So if you don't like it, I'll just leave." He huffed, continuing; "I knew you'd be weird about it. That's why I didn't say anything before. But it's my business. I wasn't going to act on it!! God! I know you don't do 'boyfriends' or relationships, okay?"

He angled his body again towards the door to leave. Looking down at the hands holding onto him, expecting Sherlock to release him. Now. 

He gave Sherlock a glare when the younger man continued to hold him there. Frozen. A perplexed and frankly scary look on his face. 

_Whatever_. John thought, seeing that his (former) best friend clearly was now entranced in a 'mind palace' moment. __Bloody git.__ Watson began to pry one finger free, at a time. If he didn't - he'd be here all night. One came loose.

He was working on another. And then another. Carefully trying not to tear the soft fabric of his favorite shirt. He kept glancing up at Sherlock's frozen features between each release, looking for any change or movement. _Nope!_

How he could just shut off like that? Like a machine? It was amazing really. Amazing, and at the moment, quite frustratingly painful. To be rejected was bad enough. To NOT BE ABLE TO LEAVE in the wake of it. Was far worse. His humiliation was growing with every second. And his face getting redder and redder as he wanted to cry. To just, tear Sherlock's BLOODY HANDS OFF OF HIM and run. 

This was _not_ how he had imagined this relationship would go. If you had asked him a few weeks ago. A few days ago. He would have... nevermind.

But he had been pushed.

And well...

He pried one more sharp talon from his shirt. This time tearing it a little in the effort. His eyes were now stinging with tears, and two giant drops rolled off his cheek, splashing onto the front of his shirt as he looked down to examine the hole there. 

He dropped the duffel bag to work a little harder at it now. The shirt was ruined after all. Like his friendship. Why had he said ANYTHING in that stupid f*ing game??

"Jesus, Sherlock." John whispered in frustration. Finally giving up. His voice breaking. As he started to really cry. His hands coming up to cover his face. And he let it out.

This small, quiet sounds, seemed to jog the younger man back online faster than any yelling, or kicking, or screaming, or punching - could have. And Sherlock's hands relaxed their grip on his chest. And now...

Now

Sherlock's hands were releasing their grasp, and smoothing down John's shoulders where the shirt had bunched. Straightening out his tee. Feeling the torn hole, and trying to clumsily hide it, pressing the cloth back into place with his palm. As if it would glue itself back together if Sherlock willed it to. Watson stared at the spot also, as if it might, just. This was Sherlock Holmes after all... and he sometimes performed miracles.

Sherlock was continuing to maintain physical contact, something that was unusual enough to make Watson stand still. He was soothingly rubbing down Watson's arms. Coming closer, and taking the older boys hands into his. Interlocking their fingers. 

John must have been the absolute image of charming confusion, as he looked up. Sherlock was smiling down at him. 

He looked

rather than asked

A question of sherlock?

"You too?" Sherlock stated.

Watson smiled.

John could beam a smile 

that would split the sky.

It certainly

lit up the room,

Sending his classmate down to meet his lips in a first kiss.

John released eventually, huffing and gasping for breath. As far as kisses go, that was. That was amazing. He couldn't stop smiling, now that he had started, it seemed! His heart was bursting with joy. "I didn't know you felt that way." He stated, incredulous at the turn of events, "I didn't think..."

-

"Well," Sherlock shrugged - not letting Watson get away with being _too_ clever - "you are an idiot."

Sherlock continued, "If I had known you felt that way about us..."

John laughed. His laughter all the more felt, after the tears of moments before. He responded in like manner, "I like the sound of 'us'." He stated simply. Hands behind his back, as if he didn't know what to do with them now. And also knowing full well, what all they would like to be doing right now...

Sherlock shuffled his feet and looked sheepishly up at Watson, ready to ask just _one_ more question. "Can I?... May I? Tell anyone else your secret?" He asked.

It was Watson's turn to call HIM an idiot.

He looked up at Sherlock with his head cocked to one side and gave him a permissive nod. Then looking this way, and that, as if about to share ANOTHER secret, he crinkled up his nose and leaned in, whispering softly: "I think they already know." And winked.

\- THE END -


	2. Cover Me in Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAY #2 - 'DO BEES KISS? or JUST STING?' from collection, posted separately.  
> DAY #3 - DRAWING BELOW!

# Prompt #2: Allergies & Prompt #3: Storm

The storm is about to break after a week of unexplained kisses from Sherlock....

READ THE STORY HERE: [Do Bees Kiss? Or Just Sting?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962666)


	3. DANCE DANCE BABY!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes we skipped Chapter 3 (See Chapter 2! dual post LOL)
> 
> I make no apologies for what's about to happen...

# Prompt #4: Dance

You're Welcome. (Go on, play the songs! You know you wanna)


	4. CHOOSE WISELY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John & Sherlock are sitting in the dark. What game... are they playing?

# Prompt #5: Choose & #6: Power Out

**John:** Choose, Sherlock.

John finished placing pieces on the board.

**Sherlock:** Who's idea was it to play this game in the dark?

**John:** Mine.

**Sherlock:** Yours.

**John:** Don't think you're up for the challenge? Power's going to be out for a while, Sherlock. Can't risk letting you get bored!

John smiled at him.

Or at least, Sherlock imagined

he could see John's smile in the darkness.

Audible in his voice as he spoke.

Sherlock smiled in return, John would never know.

**Sherlock:** Fine.

**John:** I'm waiting!

**Sherlock:** Impatient, not becoming on you John.

John sighed, rolling his eyes.

**Sherlock:** Stop rolling your eyes at me John.

**John:** You can't POSSIBLY have seen that!

Sherlock laughed. Catching himself and straightening his shoulders. And his face. Serious time.

**Sherlock:** I'm ready.

**John:** FINALLY! Prepare to lose genius!!!

**Sherlock:** Torpedo to E5

**John:** Bugger.


	5. O Bee!

# Prompt #7: Cereal


	6. The Girlfriend Mixup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was used to John getting his girlfiends mixed up, sure.
> 
> He just wasn't used to being included IN that bunch...

# Prompt #8: Skeptical

"This is Sherlock," Watson introduced, as they slipped into the booth next to Watson's army buddies. Sherlock ended up trapped between Watson and another bloke. Elbow-to-elbow. He scooted closer to Watson as imperceptibly as he could. Watson noticed with a raised eyebrow and Holmes shrugged. "I don't mind," he said.

"You guys been here long?" Watson asked, returning his gaze to his buddies and eyeing their already full glasses. Sherlock could tell he was trying to decide what to start the evening out with. What might gain him the least amount of protest from this quarter. Sherlock was not about to help.

He hadn't wanted to come along. And this had been a compromise.

He attended with John.

John would forgive the recent explosion in the kitchen. A result of his latest, and frankly, promising experiment...

A waitress came by. Pert and blonde. Watson smiled at her. Turned the charm on full blast. Sherlock wanted to puke. He spoke up and interrupted as John was placing his order. Being sure to make it a strong fruity "girly" drink for both him and John. To share. Watson looked confused.

That would teach him.

Also get the guys to make fun of him.

Doubly worth it. No one was going home with Watson tonight but him. He was going to make sure of it.

He would have gone with John either way, if he was honest with himself. Arguing with Watson about it was a formality. One couldn't just agree to a social engagement. Bad form for a sociopath.

He also knew what being around a bunch of bachelors did to John 'Three Continents' Watson. He always had to prove something on those nights. And would usually come home wrapped in someone.

Sherlock squirmed in his chair. Fidgeted with his hands. Felt the underside of the table... no... better not do that. Gross.

He wrapped his hands in his coat sleeves and tried to think away the germs he had just come into contact with. He counted to ten. Looking down at his slim fingers as he peeked the tips back out from his cuff. Playing with the buttons on one hand. John was prattling on with the men. He had not heard a word so far.

He looked up. Watson was laughing and having a great time. It was worth it. Coming. He took a sip of his newly arrived drink. A garish pink affair with an umbrella on it. Watson's voice filtered in, "We were left stranded after that one! Haha! Caught the bloody thief! But Sherlock here, caught the worst of it!!!" He tumbled over laughing.

It was not a pleasant memory. Sherlock crinkled his nose. The smell of fish, from that day, almost still perceptible in his nostrils...

"He dove straight into the fish net to tackle the guy!! Made a very effective trap. I must say," He leaned closer to Sherlock, slapping his knee. And then left his hand lingering there. Sherlock looked down at it. Enjoying the moment. He was afraid to move. Watson might...

Watson's hand slid away and back up to the table. Where he picked up the pink concoction and drank heartily. Clearly intent on not letting Sherlock think he had won OR embarrassed him with his choice of drink.

Sherlock let slip a half smile. He did love this side of John. The devil-may-care, can't-get-me-down, side.

Watson only showed this side when he was really happy. When he was really confident. Like he was. Now.

Among friends. Next to friends. Sherlock also. A friend.

His eyes darkened.

Friend.

The word was an embrace as well as a wall, keeping him out. Keeping him from the closer layer. But there was no closer layer for them. Was there?

He reached for the drink in John's hands, and slipping his hands over them, brought it to his own mouth. Leaning towards John as he did so.

John was in the middle of a soliloquy about their next case (after the fish smelling fiasco) and had his audience held in rapt attention (Sherlock noticed with amusement). So it came as a surprise, when out of the corner of his eye, and continuing to talk - John Watson also leaned towards him. And kissed him. On the cheek. "How was that then, Love?" He asked the stunned Holmes. And then went back to talking. Not batting an eye.

Sherlock froze.

His brain fizzled.

Sherlock was used to John getting his girlfiend's mixed up, sure.

He just wasn't used to being included in that bunch...

He shrank back quietly. Careful to not interrupt Watson's speech or draw undue attention to the fact. And kept quiet. Maybe Watson hadn't noticed.

Maybe NOBODY had noticed.

It would be okay still. He tried to calm his breathing. He was having a bit of a panic attack himself. Not entirely sure why, either.

And John Watson noticed.

John always noticed Sherlock.

It would have made Sherlock smile. If he hadn't been so intent on NOT being noticed at the moment. On not drawing any attention to what John had mistakenly done only a moment ago...

Sherlock realized that John was saying his name now.... had been, for a while, "Sherlock? Hey! Sherlock?!"

Sherlock looked up as if dazed. John's eyes were burning with worry. "You okay, Love?" he asked. A strong tenderness, clearly making it's way into his voice.

Sherlock must have looked his confusion. For Watson was getting up now and definitely shifting into 'Doctor Watson' mode. Sherlock tried shaking his head and saying he was fine. But John wasn't having it, "Up!!" He commanded, and shifted Sherlock, almost bodily out of his seat. "C'mon Love," He was saying, "Fresh air. Good ol' London fog in your lungs' wot you need." He hauled Sherlock out of the pub and onto the cobblestone street in front of them. It was a narrow road for London town. One of the older boroughs. Mostly residential. This pub had clearly been one of the older establishments, and as such had tiny mullioned windows that showed little from without or within.

Watson had tucked him into the corner of the covered entryway. And was patting down his arms and puffing away the cold that threatened to envelope them.

"You okay?" Watson asked again. Sherlock noted that he had dropped the 'Love' from earlier. So it clearly was just a show for some reason. He calmed his breathing. Forcing himself to act and react the part that John was wanting him to play.

He figured he should establish exactly WHAT that part was. At this point in the venture.

He dropped a blank expression across his face then opened his eyes. Looking at John clearly at last.

John meanwhile had been tending to Sherlock's frozen hands, and looked up - with such gentleness - and Sherlock almost thought for a second - LOVE - that he looked away. This was going to be hard.

Why would Watson make him do this? What had he done to deserve this fake night of closer affection? Affection that he craved, so badly.

The alcohol was starting to kick in. And he was feeling less and less in control of his emotions. He gruffed his throat and blinked past a building pool of tears that was beginning to form on his eyes.

"Hey," Watson was demanding attention, still and yet, "Sherlock, Love - what is it?"

Sherlock turned on John.

"Don't!"

He growled it.

John looked up. Hurt. Taken aback, he hesitated, head drawn back. Then he shifted his chin forward again, and said, "Pardon? DON'T... what exactly?"

Sherlock glowered. "Really, John?"

"Really."

John waited.

"Love."

Sherlock stated. Simply. THAT. Deal with THAT first John. "What game is that hmmm?"

He found, he was going to release it all.

"Am I the girlfriend TONIGHT then, John?" He spat, "A temporary placeholder for you? Something to show the guys you aren't ALONE? Small fact, would have been nice to KNOW first."

He lifted himself up and off the wall, slamming his shoulder past John. Attempting to walk away.

John trailed after him.

John always

trailed after him.

Sherlock heard the footsteps behind him with heightened sadness. John's puppy-like habits were endearing at times. The exception being when you needed to escape his obsessive attention.

"Sherlock, wait!" John begged. Grabbing at his arm. "Wait you madman!!" He yelled. Trying to keep hold of Sherlock desperately.

Sherlock picked up the pace, slipping away. "Sorry John, I know you didn't mean to do it. Go back, they'll be missing you." He waved John off, "At least they know you're not alone now. That's clearly what you brought me here for. It worked. They believed it. Congratulations. You can let them know you're going home to me and go find yourself a date for the night, for _real_ after. Maybe that pert thing at the bar. She looked interested. They'll never be the wiser." The last few words came out like eating glass. The last thing he could have possibly wanted. His stomach tightened at the thought of John, HIS John, going home with that blonde little thing. Six months of no girlfriend, and then for THIS to happen. He sighed.

He willed himself to stand still. Taking a look back over his shoulder to see the reaction his snide remarks had had on the golden soldier. The man he loved.

John had stopped as if pinned in place to the ground. Dead quiet for a few moments. His mouth an O of absolute stunned silence. "I..." was all he managed to stutter out.

"I thank you John. Calling me 'Love' was a kindness." Sherlock continued then, "Could have just pretended I was your f..." He didn't get out the rest of the vulgarities he was about to issue out, as Watson had stormed up to him at this point and slapped his hand across Sherlock's mouth to stop him bodily, from speaking.

"Now you will listen to me, you mad, crazy, gorgeous bastard!!" He responded at last. Sherlock attempted to mumble a word against his palm and Watson cut him off, "You. Will. Listen." Sherlock stopped fighting the hand clamped against his face. Fine. Whatever. Get it over with already. He rolled his eyes as John released him, and then John bounced a little, on the balls of his feet. Hand tightening and releasing. Open palm. Fist. Open palm.

He was psyching himself up a bit before he could continue. Counting his thoughts before he spoke. Sherlock was used to this action, in inaction. He waited. Then John continued.

"You only get mean like this, really mean - when you're emotionally compromised," John began at last, pausing to look up at Sherlock for confirmation. The split-second look that had passed across Sherlock's face (before the mask fell) was obviously enough to encourage Watson to continue, "and I did not!" He nodded his head at this, raising his voice, "DID NOT mean to imply that you are a TEMPORARY _anything!_ " Watson was winding up. More was clearly coming. "Not temporary at all!!! Mr. Genius. Mister I'm-too-bloody-smart-for-my-own-damn-good and don't-even-notice-when-my-best-friend-has-turned-down-every-girl-he-has-met-in-the-last-6-months, for you brainiac!!" He was spinning around on the street. Yelling it at the top of his lungs.

Sherlock eyed John with disbelief narrowing his vision. His brain was on high alert. Skeptical. "What about the waitress?" he asked.

John stopped spinning. He laughed. "I KNEW you weren't paying attention, Christ Sherlock! I tried to hook her up with Antonio!! Didn't you se... of course you didn't." He threw his hands up, despairing "They even exchanged numbers!"

Sherlock tried again, certain there was something else behind this, had to be... "Are you... drunk then?"

"No," John Watson shook his head now, sadly. Catching on at last.

Picking his jacket back up from where it had slipped out of his hands, he slapped it against the ground in an act of minor aggression and started to shift himself back towards the pub. ""No.... Just.... incredibly stupid apparently." He huffed and looked back at the pub and then back at Sherlock with one last hope of recognition.... and.... Sherlock saw it then (when he did not respond quickly enough)... Gave up.

...

John Hamish Watson.

Resident of Bart's Bloody Hospital.

Veteran of Kandahar and Afghanistan.

Survivor of a Mortal Wound.

Survivor of a Best Friend's Suicide before his eyes. 

Survivor of a lying, manipulative, murderous Wife....

Gave up.

Sherlock felt like he had just broken something.

John Watson was shrugging and shuffling away, "Clearly. Just. Stupid." He mumbled under his breath, "to think my flatmate might actually have liked me back." He was fumbling in his pocket now and trying for nonchalance by checking his phone for the time, when it slipped out of his unsteady hands, and fell to the ground below. And shattered.

.

.

.

John bent down.

Silently. Not even cursing at this point...

So he was beyond mad.

Or hurt.

Sherlock realized in that moment.

He was broken...

Sherlock could not let John leave like this. He could not for a _moment_ stand for John to put himself down. To think less of his own brilliance, the radiance that had helped him through thick and thin. A light shining clearly through any darkness to the answer hidden within. Nor could he bear to think that he had in any way caused the love of his life, the most perfect _other_ , he could ever hope to find on this teeming earth - to not see how much HE, Sherlock Holmes _wanted_ him by his side.

He raced to catch John's hand in his. Where it had dropped to grab the phone. Swooping to pick it up instead, and carefully taking it away from him. In it's damaged state and all.

John stopped frozen mid-crouch. Sherlock's right hand still touching his. Steadying him. 

John stayed perched there a few moments, looking down at his feet. And sighed, as Sherlock dropped the phone into his OWN pocket.

John stood up then, and looked away pointedly, making ready to leave.

Sherlock stopped him. Holding onto his hand, so that he could. not. go.

Watson, mid-turn, the weight still on the ball of his right foot and the flat of his left.

His arm stretched out behind him. In Sherlock's grasp.

Then Sherlock turned his wrist over, exposing the pulse point on John's outstretched arm. Sherlock's delicate fingers traced over John's palm. Touching fingers pad to pad. John instinctively curling his fingers in response, to hold. To feel. To touch, for a moment.

And then Sherlock brushed John's wrist, where it paled on the underside, not tanned like the top of the arm somehow always managed to appear. His index finger held there, temporarily. Counting.

Taking his pulse.

Feeling. 

_Needing._

Some confirmation of the emotion and sentiment that John had just expressed. Was real. Could be real. Could be... true?

And John was letting him.

John was turning back towards him.

John knew this game.

He had seen it with Irene. He had attempted it himself with countless girlfriends. Always exposing the fakes. Which was sadly, most of them...

And he wanted Sherlock to know. THIS was real.

He looked up, into Sherlock's searching eyes. Ready to give him full reason for it. He let himself be honest. He let himself be bare. He let himself... Love. Even if only one last time. 

And Sherlock held his gaze. Watching his eyes darken. Watching his eyes blow wide with WANT. with NEED. with PLEASE.

And

Then Sherlock dropped John's hand. A small intake of breath as he showed the awesome weight of his findings clearly on his face. He knew. 

John. Wasn't. Lying.

John. Wasn't. Acting.

John, he admitted to himself now.

Couldn't. Act.

Hadn't this been the very reason, he had left him out of the Reichenbach plans?

Hadn't this been the very reason he had failed at every relationship he had tried to foster? Hadn't this been the very reason... it dawned on him. That John had REALLY asked for him to come along, here? Tonight?

If John could bare his heart like this, then Sherlock was going to ensure he knew it was in safe keeping, here with him.

He stepped forward. "You didn't really ask me here tonight as punishment for the experiment, did you John?" He asked.

John shook his head, no. Waiting for more.

"You really meant to show me off to your friends. Your army mates, as your significant other?"

John fought back tears and then nodded. Yes.

Sherlock stepped forward. Still unbelieving, but if this. If this _was_ real?

His hand slipped to cup behind John's exposed neck, trembling as he did so. He kept his eyes locked on John's the whole way in, so that John would know what was coming. As he bent carefully towards John's waiting, soft, upturned lips - meeting him, halfway - in a slow, long, beautiful kiss.

John sighed. Relaxing into Sherlock's arms, as they wrapped to encompass him.

Sherlock smiled into the kiss. Renewing his exploration with energy.

There was something giving within him. And he was letting it free.

By the sounds John was making, he was also enjoying this moment. _Thoroughly_.

When they pulled away, breathless, at last - they were both panting and giddy with it. The smile on John's face alone, could have warmed Sherlock on ANY cold night. He had completely forgotten about how frozen his nose was becoming. 

John gave a little laugh, an act of absolute incredulity of how the evening had shifted. He then reached up and tapped Sherlock's rosy red nose with a 'boop'. And then kissed the tip of it, nudging in to him like a cat. Sherlock loved it.

The following look John gave him, was so full of adoration and absolute contentment, that Sherlock's heart swelled with pride. "I'm the idiot, John," he said. Holding onto Watson closely. In the empty street lit only by windows, and staring to rain. 

This was his Watson.

This was his John.

This was. HIS.

He was stunned for a second.

HIS.

He thought.

He stopped and looked the question at Watson.

_What did this mean for tonight?_

John had said, this wasn't a _temporary_ thing. That he wasn't _playing_ a relationship. Did that mean?... The skeptical part of his mind still expected John to draw some invisible line when they left here, that would only extend the intimacy SO far (and no further!).

So he reached out,

Afraid when he did so, but needing. NEEDING. to know.

And John. John drew him in. Pulling their bodies closer together. Holding Sherlock to himself, and showing in the next moment that he was very happy to be in such proximity... all legs and arms and... 

John was wanting. Him.

He smiled. Looking down at John, another question in his expression. He didn't care how much like a teenager he looked at this point. How green and new John was making him...

John glowed with pleasure, looking back up at him, laughing as he did so. "Yes, you glorious creature," he said consolingly, "yes - whatever you want to do when we get home - yes. BUT," he stopped, wagging his finger at the detective's furrowed brow, "but... you will have to finish having drinks with the boys here first. NO OUTS!! AND I want to hear what _my_ pet name is. So think of one quick, mister!" He chuffed and hauled Sherlock back in towards the pub for a round with the waiting crew.

They stumbled back in.

A rousing cheer going up as the door closed behind them. Bets having been won. Proper teasing to be made.

Maybe these fellows weren't so bad after all.

Sherlock smiled, squeezing John's hand in his as they retook their seats. A little closer, this time.

It was going to be a good night,

After all.

\- the end -


	7. BLACK VELVET

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always. Wanting. More.

# Prompt #9: Velvet

BBC + BC

AS VINTAGE ADS:


	8. SKINNY DIPPING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some fluff - what is it they say about dreaming of summer, on a cold winters day?

# Prompt #10: Handle & Prompt #11: Swimming

**John was racing to the water’s edge, "Think you can handle swimming?" He laughed, as he spun and cannonballed into the crystal clear water.**

**Sherlock looked around, seeing if anyone was nearby. No one. Miles of open beach. A clear summers day. Not a soul around. This was private property after all...**

**John meanwhile, was removing his trunks. He threw them out. They splashed in a puddle by Sherlock’s feet.**

**Sherlock tentatively removed a layer from around him. Stepped a toe in. Testing. Removed another. Looked over to catch John’s eyes, who was grinning. And removed the rest, diving in.**


	9. Paper Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PAPER HEART - "A heart that is very fragile or sensitive"
> 
> I'm going to attempt to incorporate "SALT", "BOSS", and "UGLY". Bear with me. I might not make it...  
> Alright, now I'm going to have to incorporate "ARGUMENT" also (I'm getting so behind, but honestly - it all works for the next chapter, I'm just - not well still. *so tired of being sick*) will post update soon!!!

# PAPER HEART

by helloliriels

"Are you trying to peg me as a 'Bad Boy', John? Please," Sherlock interrupted, catching John's eye and raising his eyebrows in question, before indicating his posh attire and the salted caramel latte with extra caramel in his hand.

John had been leaning across the table at the little coffee shop, describing Sherlock and his traits to Harry. He stopped momentarily to cock his head at Sherlock, "Not trying, Sherlock. I mean, it is what it is." Not deterred in any way, he continued to describe Sherlock's exploits and 'bad' behavior in what Sherlock would call - a rather exaggerated and _elaborate_ fashion.

Harry was eating it up.

John sat back, ending with, "and now you get to meet him in person. You agree right?"

"You shouldn't give Harry the wrong impression John."

"Have I?" he asked Harry, conspiratorially.

Harry shook her head, "definitely not! He is all that and _more..."_ she added winking at John. "I totally get it now, you always did have a thing for bad boys in school."

Now it was Watson's turn to jump in, "No, no. Not like that." He sputtered and grabbed for a napkin, "Harry. A word. Please?" And pulling Harry along 'til they were in the hall near the kitchen and doors to the loos, he started in quietly. "What are you trying to do?" He hissed out. Harry took it all super-conspiratorially, "John." She looked him straight up and down, "seriously, look - John. You aren't fooling anyone. You just spent 10 minutes romanticizing your flatmate in front of him without even blushing. I don't know how. I mean. He knows, right?"

"God, no," Watson placed his hands over her mouth, as if the walls could hear and go back to tell Sherlock, "He doesn't. He can't. I mean, he doesn't go in for that sort of thing."

"You mean he isn't gay? Or he doesn't do boyfriends?" She looked over Watson's shoulder at the man at the booth, and then back at John with confusion and then dropped her eyelids, staring at John, deadpan... "you are kidding right?"

She paused.

"Tell me, you're kidding John."

When Watson didn't reply, she shook her head.

"THAT man. OUT THERE. Is NOT gay? Pfft," she started laughing. "Forrest for the trees, I guess bro. Whatever... secret's safe with me. But heck, if I were you. I'd ask him who his boyfriend _is_ then. He looks like a man in a steady relationship. If it ain't you, it's someone." She looked back over at Sherlock sitting content and quiet, "that man is secure. He ain't browsing." And she turned to go into the loos herself, to give John time to make up own mind how to save face in returning. "But word of advice," she threw out, around the door, "don't take too long. He might just marry whomever it is before you've told him how you really feel."

John was left in turmoil. Not even thinking about how he should go back to explain his little "talk" with Harry.

He can't just...

No.

But, Sherlock is?

WHo??!

When?!

_Where_?

He spent every waking moment (that John knew of, besides a few errands now and then) in John's own company. This was going to kill him. NOT knowing...

He trudged back over to Sherlock. Who perked up immediately to John's shift in attitude.

"Everything O.K.?" he asked John, a touch of concern in his voice. It made John smile a little. And his heart hurt. He looked over the gorgeous man in front of him. All dark curls, and brilliant blue eyes. A man whose depth of character he knew inside and out. Who shined like a prism, reflecting color and changing everything in John's life with his very presence. And John didn't really know him.... did he?

He could go on for hours about the genius and complexity of the man. And still. Not know him. Not on that level. It made him sadder than - he realized - he had any right. To be.

"Are you alright? John?" Sherlock was shifting out of his seat now and standing up. "Is Harry alright?" Sherlock was on high alert, holding onto Watson's shoulders and craning his neck to see past him, in case Harry had was in need of emergency service. Or in trouble. Or _anything_.

Watson loved how ready the man always was, to dive right into danger. Bad boy. _Hmmff._ He chuckled to himself a bit. _A bad boy with a paper heart._

"S'all right Sherlock, was nothing. Just remembered something personal I needed to discuss with her. It was kind of urgent. She's fine. I'm fine. It's just..." Sherlock grabbed John's coffee and handed it to him.

"Did you want to leave?" He was fussing. John could tell. Trying to read the room, and failing. Watson loved him the more for it. How could he get them back to the moment they were having before he...?

Harry came bouncing back out. Hands on her hips. "Well, you boys should really invite me out more. Next time, Sherlock - you must promise to tell me EVERYTHING about my brother. Since I haven't SEEN HIM -" She eyed Watson liked a criminal -" in AGES. And he never tells me anything." She looked over at Sherlock who was smiling in reply, "Deal??" She asked. To which he replied, heartily, "Deal."

"I'm out, you two!" She whistled as she trotted off grabbing her jacket, and punching the door open. "I'm sure you have dinner plans anyways," she called on her way out, "Happy Valentine's!"

John was dumbfounded. And turning bright red.

He felt like the entire coffee shop was looking at them. Staring at the back of his head. His neck ached with the rigidity he was trying to hold himself steady. To look normal. He could kick Harry. He counted to ten, before trusting himself enough to turn and to look at Sherlock for his reaction. Dreading it.

But Sherlock was kicked back again, enjoying his latte. Seemingly, oblivious. _Huh._

John shook it off and sat back down, since this was clearly what they were still... doing?...

Sherlock was not the type to sit still for long. And as far as John knew (he winced, internally) he did not frequent coffee shops much. _Maybe he did with his boyfriend?_

"So," Watson huffed, trying to kick-start conversation, if only so they wouldn't sit in silence in a public coffee shop. Talking was usually not difficult for them. They seemed to read each other naturally. But John was at a loss. Feeling. Disconnected. At the moment.

"Tonight," Sherlock said. His eyes were twinkling.

Watson shut his mouth.

Swallowed.

So the parting shot HAD been heard. And registered. _Bollocks._

"Tonight," he tried cheerfully, "Plans?"

"Definitely."

"Good," Watson clipped. "That's um... good." He paused, before it slipped out, "Who with?" He licked his lips.

Sherlock looked confused momentarily, but then seemed to parse the question. Sitting up straighter to reply. "Was thinking Angelo's?"

"No, I meant." John tried again, "you know what, nevermind." He went to get up.

"What? Is Angelo's not a good choice?" Sherlock also stood. Grabbing his coat and stretching his long, elegant arms to put it back on. John was watching him, like a man parched, and thirsty for water.

Sherlock grinned. "Place where we first met."

"Oh," John's face dropped, again. So he hadn't been the first (or apparently), the last, whom Sherlock had taken there. With the exception, that this one had actually BEEN a date or, worse yet... TURNED INTO a date.

He huffed. _Sucks to be you, Watson!_ He thought to himself. Hearing Harry's voice in his head.

"Why don't we go, John?" Sherlock was being gentle, and it crushed him further. "You must have a headache. Funny. Caffeine usually helps with those..."

John followed him as he marched out the door. All long strides. Clipped to allow John to keep pace with him.

(...to be continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 DOWN!!! DID YOU CATCH IT? (I'll be continuing this one)


	10. CHUMMY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentine's Day, they return to 221b after meeting Harry and John storms off upstairs to think.

# PAPER HEART

Chapter 2: Chummy 

by helloliriels

Back at their apartment, John trudged upstairs immediately, leaving sherlock in the living room. 

His feet were heavy and it felt like lead pumping in his veins. He steadied himself. Pausing momentarily as he went up one more step. Feeling every bit of his age this afternoon.

The morning _had_ been lovely.

Seeing Harry again was not something he had anticipated happening. On today of all days... And certainly not in the jovial manner in which it did!

Harry and John's relationship was... strained, at best. But Sherlock had somehow arranged it. And, John reflected. It had gone well.

Maybe there was hope there.

She seemed to take to Sherlock after all. He was oddly persuasive. John smiled. And then the grief struck him again, that here was one more reason for him to love, and appreciate Sherlock. And Sherlock was really?...

John found he was having trouble breathing. He had just rounded the corner of the stairwell and leaned himself back against the wall, his head fell back with a dull thud. Making a hollow sound. He cringed.

At least he was out of sight from Sherlock below, (since he hadn't got far) in the event Sherlock got curious and look up to check on him.

He was having a panic attack. 

He had those sometimes. 

_Or did_. Rather

Less frequently now... that he was with sherlock. 

With sherlock.

The thought floored him.

He tried and failed, to steady his breathing. Rolling off the wall and committing to getting inside the door of his room first, he pushed himself.

He wondered... 

How long would he be with sherlock.

Had he ever? - he asked himself - even stopped to think about that? before?

No.

He hadn't.

Why? Didn't one? with Mates? There was always an UNTIL... but not with Sherlock.

Somehow - he realized upon reflection - he had thought they would be inseparable.

Like two halves of a whole. He had taken it for granted.

One wouldn't think to cut off half of oneself, to go about their life?

They secured each other.

Balloons that drifted otherwise. 

Grounded.

Lightening that could not be contained and must be directed. 

More than attraction.

More than platonic,

come to think of it. 

Abnormal, in its normality 

_For them_.

How they had fallen into sync with each other's lives so readily. They had opened up to each other in ways they had never let any other in. Was that what mates did?

The more ways he counted.

The more he realized how much he had come to rely on Sherlock. For everything. IN everything. Trust. Companionship. Love.

They were symbiotic. Living

because the other lived.

But in a healthy way.

The way a plant grows in the sunlight.

Or a fish breathes in the water.

There was something natural, to it.

He remembered Sherlock calling him his 'conductor of light'. But in reality, John saw Sherlock as shining the brightest. Impossibly bright sometimes. Like it made him pale, in comparison.

And he would have been pulled into its mad, swirling orbit, no matter what. It had been a willing choice, but that just made the ride all the better.

And a now severing of that tie was just as inevitable. John felt they might as well put out the sun.

Possibly sherlock would take this new (man? woman?) on cases with him as well?

Have to endure their praises, as they complimented and flirted with _his_ Sherlock Holmes. He was grinding his teeth again. 

John had stepped into his room during all of this. Moving about in a caged manner. Pacing back and forth in the limited space. 

He Suddenly felt like punching something. 

Angry at Sherlock. 

Angry at himself.

Angry at...

He lashed out, throwing something (he wasn't entirely sure what, until he heard it smash) against the wall in a sickening crunch. Like scales had fallen off his eyes - the way it does after an act of childishness - he realized.

He knelt down to see the shattered remains of his lucky cat.

It was the funny little one Sherlock had picked up for him last Christmas, after the blind banker case. The month just before the 'Last Girlfriend' had left in a huff.

John had been rather hopeful then...

He wondered now why he had stopped trying. With the girlfriends.

It was obvious, even back then.

Sherlock was not interested. In him.

Sherlock Would Never.

Be interested. 

But he had thought, at least they could have this?

Whatever _this_ was. 

It was enough.

_Almost._

Now

He was losing even that.

He sank down to the floor next to his closet. The carpet felt nice. He was tired. This was stupid. He would have to see Sherlock off on his date later that evening. And he had to (he HAD to) put a good face on it.

After all, (not that he cared, right?), Sherlock had always let him have HIS dates. Without... ok with some complaining.

So _maybe he could get some barbs in_. Just to even the score.

John psyched himself up. He would be cheery. He would be normal. He would be, the best mate he could. For as long as Sherlock would let him.

He breathed out, a puff and a prayer for confidence and control of his own jealous nature. And took himself off downstairs. Sherlock wasn't his property after all. As much as he wished, he was. He would be chummy. _Mates._ This was Sherlock's right to be happy. He wasn't going to dim it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMING NEXT CHAPTER!!! (FINAL --CH.3 of PAPER HEARTS-- CH. 11 OF FEB CHALLENGE)
> 
> Sherlock is going to get this under control - it was his first chance to make good on his Valentine's promise to himself. 
> 
> He was going to tell John.  
> He was going to give John the opportunity to come out. If he wanted this.
> 
> Sherlock had come back from the coffee shop in complete confusion over the mood John Watson was currently in.
> 
> It was like two animals were warring with John's emotions. And Sherlock wasn't sure which beast would win...


	11. MATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock POV after the coffee shop - re-assessing his plans for the evening with John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be more than 3 chapters. Sorry!! (I totes lied)
> 
> Also, at this point I've totally missed half the month's prompts. So I'm just going to pick up the pieces if and when they spark something and try not to stress over the rest. Hope that's 'ok.

# PAPER HEART

Chapter 3: Mate

by helloliriels

Sherlock is going to get this under control - it was his first chance to make good on his Valentine’s promise to himself.

He was going to tell John. He was going to give John the opportunity to come out. _If he wanted this._

Sherlock had come back from the coffee shop in complete confusion over the mood John Watson was currently in. It was like two animals were warring with John’s emotions. And Sherlock wasn’t sure which beast would win…

***

He had heard John pause in the stairwell. And thought better of making any comment - as he could tell it took his flatmate nearly five full minutes to get up a single set of stairs.

He held his breath listening. Pretending to make noise. For John’s sake. 

He had been counting this week, all the ways he had unconsciously adjusted his life around John Watson over the past year.

It had all started with finding Harry at a bookshop days ago. He immediately recognized who she must be and, unlike his usual self (thanks again to John’s influence in his life) had braved a conversation with her. 

John would have been proud, he thought. 

In fact he had let Harry make the move to invite John under the pretense of meeting sherlock herself. They both agreed it would be better that way.

He didn’t want John thinking he was trying to pull anything, after all. And the meeting of the coffee shop had gone surprisingly well, sherlock noted.

John seemed genuinely happy to see Harry. 

And with Sherlock there - they had both seemed a bit more comfortable. Sherlock paused at the irony of that very statement. Considering most people became 90% more uncomfortable in his presence…

The Watson’s were indeed a rare bunch.

And Harry had seen one more deduction. Realizing what Sherlock had _not_ told her. It was clearly obvious from their short meeting, and her own knowledge of her brother’s behaviour.

Sherlock knew John was a little bit embarrassed by his family, and somehow could only see their flaws. His own self-consciousness no doubt. Sherlock however, certainly appreciated their other side(s), for there were many; their intelligence, their wit, their courage, and their capacity to love. 

Sherlock had planned on a nice evening at Angelo’s, the site of their first dinner together. To allow them to have a rehash of the conversation he should have answered _so differently_ a little over a year ago. It was the one and only time John Watson hadallowedhimself to show his interest openly, and he - Sherlock, had panicked. Shot him down. Shut him down.

At the time, he didn’t yet know enough about the man sitting across from him. 

It would have been a snap decision. 

Decisions like that about emotions, about vulnerability, could not be made lightly. 

After all, sentiment was something to be kept under wraps. Like all human trappings: caring, hunger, want, anger, lust, passion, greed - It must be tamed and held subject to will. Reigned in, lest it gain control of your life. Become a weak point. A chink in the armor. A fly in the ointment.

He wished now, that for a moment he had allowed himself to be compromised - and seen what would have come of it. 

But here _was_ his chance. 

Watson was a romantic. And this was Valentine’s. His one opportunity to make a statement. Hint, and see where John would take it.

\--

He had been slow to realize it himself. To see the shift. 

How significantly in the last year, their interactions had changed. 

Their hands drifting to touch more often, to linger when they could. Their bodies, tending to lean in closer, to breath in each others air, to share each others space at every opportunity. They both had found excuses. The small laptop. The forgotten phone or keys. The cold weather and shared pockets. The single bed in the inn…

That time, Sherlock had barely been able to contain his want. 

And then, there were the Little Things that he started to notice about himself;

How he was really changing, and very much for the better.

In his position in the British government his brother had to be extra careful - guarding against outside intrusion. So Mycroft had always taught him to do the same. Sherlock took those lessons to mean that he should always go it alone. Should stay behind guarded walls. But now he found, that he preferred to have a team with him, and not have to always be so lone _ly._

That he could trust Lestrade, even when things looked dark,

That he could rely on Molly’s insights, and often needed them.

That Watson and Mrs. Hudson’s healthier habits of feeding him up and making him get enough sleep, might actually _help._ Listening when she told him they were her “favourite pair”.

At this point, any protests he gave were more for show than anything else. The sociopath would sometimes be surprised by just how childish he had become in his lifestyle before John Watson…

He found that John however, took it all in stride…

Seeming to find sherlock’s antics endearing, and humorous. Even when he was going for furious or sulky.

It _was_ rather infuriating sometimes how John was able to get him laughing, when he was the most upset. And could help him to forget his anger altogether - if he could just get him to first crack a smile. It had become a game to them.

And it was definitely Watson who helped him out of his darkest moods. Who saw him through danger nights, even when they had barely known each other.

Danger nights, he reflected, that had become less and less frequent over the past months. As he learned to trust and open up from his solitary confinement. 

He noticed John stopped dating girlfriends. 

Noticed John stop looking at other women. 

Noticed John looking at _him_ more.

Noticed _John._

Even Lestrade at this point had made some comments to sherlock on the matter, that he had taken to heart. 

Lestrade wasn’t Mrs. Hudson after all. 

Sherlock took his advice _occasionally_ (after vehemently defending the polar opposite position of course) - as he would, if he took his dad’s advice… which he didn’t.

Greg Lestrade was an honest man. So when he said he had noticed the way John was paying attention to Sherlock - to the exclusion of every other relationship potential in his life - and had also promptly poked holes in all of sherlock’s rebuttals… Sherlock sat up and took notice.

Devil’s advocate will only take you so far after all… 

Especially when you have an angel sitting there on your shoulder offering you heaven…

Their behaviour had become singularly monogamous of late. 

He thought again about these dinner plans. What to do?

John didn’t seem particularly thrilled by Angelo’s. In fact, the idea seemed to upset him. Sherlock puzzled. Determined to figure it out. He could call up Ella, John’s therapist and figure it out in just a few questions. But he felt that might be a bit not good.

Perhaps… no… well, why not? Perhaps he could call Molly and ask her for boyfriend advice. She has… boyfriends.

He certainly could NOT ask The Woman. That would only upset John more (besides prove that she was still living), and he wanted John to be completely confident this evening…

Yes, Molly was the best possible resource for this question. He dialed her up. While John was smashing something upstairs, a rushed and panicky Holmes dove right into the point of his call.


	12. CHECKMATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock consults with Molly on what could be wrong with Angelo's for a first date with Watson? He had thought the man would be touched by the gesture, but now... he was out of his depth. And he needed some advice.

# PAPER HEART

Chapter 4: Checkmate 

by helloliriels

Molly was available, but could not talk at the moment - being elbows deep in a cadaver. Sherlock's only option was to head out and confer with her in person.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, assessing John's potential reactions to coming downstairs to an empty flat. Then decided on the whole, it might be for the best.

Watson needed to think. 

And Sherlock would only confuse the matter if he pushed without further insight into Watson’s mindset.

He grabbed up his coat and scarf and rushed out the door, barely a whoosh in the parting. The door was left light on the latch as he left. 

Mrs. Hudson was downstairs, and Sherlock passed her with a small peck on the cheek.

"Going out now?" She cheerily asked in parting, a statement more than a question. And Sherlock largely ignored it. He nodded, said simply “Bart’s” as he pulled the front door behind him, and was gone.

\--

Molly's lab was clean and quiet. Sherlock liked the neatness. The sterility. The smell of harsh cleaners and metallic instruments.

He eyed the tidy tray as Molly's gloved hand selected tool after carefully selected tool. Processing the rib cage, sternum, internal organs, and neck region of one Mr. Kimball Green that read on his toe tag.

The blood smearing the front of her apron and smock would have been off-putting to any other of her colleagues. Few ventured into this room. Or stayed for long if they managed to wander in. But Sherlock found it calming. There was no intrusion. Visitors kept their own welcome short. And he was not called upon to interact with anyone unless he chose to. Molly worked in silence, except when documenting the findings of her post-mortem.

Sherlock waiting patiently. He knew an undistracted Molly would be necessary if he was to get solid, thought provoking advice. Doctor Molly and Affable Companion Molly seemed to be of two different minds. Neat and tidy. Compartmentalized. Just the kind of person he respected.

She indicated that she was wrapped up, and Sherlock followed her into the next door chemistry lab after some cleanup and changing of gowns.

She brightened immediately, "So? What can I do you for, Sherlock?" Her cheery grin was all the more pure and honest in it’s friendship, now that she was no longer trying for Sherlock's attentions. They had come to an understanding on Sherlock's.... orientation, a few months back now. She had been surprised (but not really) when it came down to it. And had surprised him, by becoming a great ally in his understanding of how to handle what he hoped to be, a lifelong relationship with John Hamish Watson.

He really was lucky to still have her as a friend. He thought again of how he had hurt her in the past. Why had she forgiven him? He could only be grateful. He smiled back, "Well, um... we have a problem," he paused, choosing his words more carefully. "I have a problem," he stated more simply, "tonight is Valentine's, and the plan was - " "Angelo's, yeah??" She interrupted. "Yes," Sherlock looked down at the ground intently, toying with something between his shoes, "it seems there is some trouble with that as an option now...." Molly looked thoroughly puzzled. He sighed. Maybe this wouldn't be easy to solve for tonight. Time was running out.

"Any thoughts, Molly?" He asked. He pleaded, really. As if by asking in desperation might help jog an idea free from her or their minds, collectively. This was a worthy puzzle. And Molly could see that Sherlock was out of his depth with it. A click down the hall Sherlock ignored as he continued, "Where else could we go? I don't think John would like it if we went to Angelo's tonight. Though I'm not quite sure why??"

A door slamming behind them made Sherlock whip around. Nobody had been in the lab with them... had they?

He jogged over to the door, to catch a glimpse of grey-blonde hair practically running out of the hospital wing, out of sight, and out the door.

FUCK.


	13. TORN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John won't pick up. Sherlock makes the only call he can. Maybe Harry will know what's eating John?

# PAPER HEART

Chapter 5: Torn 

by helloliriels

John’s phone rang. And rang. _And rang_. Several times he reached the voicemail, with no answer. John was clearly _not_ picking up.

Sherlock was in absolute panic. Molly tapped on his sleeve and tried to get his attention... not realizing the moment he was having.

"Sherlock what happened today? How do you _know_ John doesn't like the idea of Angelo's?" Sherlock's hands fluttered in frustration, as he spun around. They quickly became a vice grip on his temples, trying to get himself into his mind palace. He was not succeeding... _How could one focus at a time like this??_

Molly asked him again, "Sherlock, how do you _know_?"

Sherlock stopped and looked at her, trying to calm his mind. Staring through her, as his thoughts raced ahead of him. "We went out to coffee earlier today" he said, "Harry. She met with us for coffee."

"OK, that's good. That's a start," Molly replied, “Did something happen?” It was clear she had never seen him this worked up before. She eyed him with serious concern.

Sherlock search his memory - trying to think of what was the trigger? It was a feeling. Nebulous. 

"I don't know! I don't know!!!" Rapping at the sides of his head with his open palms. Desperate to jog something free and start his CPU running again.

His fingers were now pulling on his hair. Digging into his scalp. Molly had to pry them away, "It's OK, Sherlock - calm down... think." 

"Harry!" A light had come on, Aha! His head snapped up. Hands dropping. "John had a personal argument with her. Something between siblings?" He paused, "I don't know. I didn't listen. Gave them their space." Shaking his head and trying to see it in his mind. 

"OK," browsing on the phone for Sherlock contacts, Molly saw John Watson's entry and next to it, a new entry for Harry Watson. "Why don't we try calling Harry? Ask? Maybe there is something they spoke about. I mean, did _she_ seem upset after their talk? Maybe it was something personal?? You said yourself they've always had a difficult relationship..." She left it hanging. An open ended question.

Sherlock protested "But she seemed cheerful when she came back, after they spoke - it was just John that was affected?"

"Well. You don't know her very well. Maybe she was just pretending? People do silly things when they're upset, Sherlock." It wasn't helping. "OK, so if you think that John would be upset with you reaching out, to Harry - " She quickly amended.

"He... he won't think I'm prying?" Sherlock asked incredulous even at the suggestion.

"I'm sure it will help if he knows why you’ve asked - especially since you seem so upset right now. He dislikes upsetting you, Sherlock."

Sherlock had not considered this aspect. John did not like him to be upset. It surprised him sometimes. Few people in his life had ever cared if _he_ was upset.

"We can call Harry, and you'll only ask what you need to know." She stated, already dialing the number on his behalf.

Harry picked up almost immediately. 

Suspiciously fast even.

Sherlock wondered...

"Harry!" He shot out, "have you spoken to John...?? I can't reach him."

Harry was painfully quiet, "I just got off the phone with him, Sherlock.” Her voice was acid. “Really, I don't understand you. You seemed like a pretty cool guy earlier... but to lead my brother on like that??"

"Like what Harry? I am really confused right now." Sherlock replied, breathing in. A forced calm in his voice.

"Well all I can say is," she answered in a huff. Clearly _not_ listening or _willing to_ listen to anything that Sherlock had to say, "At least I tried to warn him earlier, which was kinder than what you did." 

"Warned him about what??" Sherlock asked now, A new note of panic raising the tenor of his voice.

"About your girlfriend. It would have been kinder to John if you just told him out right that you were going out with Molly...?!"

Sherlock almost dropped his phone, the shock was so great. 

Molly watched in silence. Her hands over her mouth in horror. Sherlock had gone deathly pale and was looking at her as if he could see through her. And not the typical Sherlock-not-paying-attention kind of see through, but in the Sherlock just received the shock of his life sort of manner.

Molly picked up the phone from where he had dropped it and place it gently back into his hands folding it over so that he held it tight. 

"Sherlock," Molly breathed. Voice so quiet. "You need to explain to John."

She continued after a moment, still in hushed tones, "I think you are going to have to be more obvious than just hints tonight. If you’re going to get anywhere with this..."

He was shuffling over to the door. Intent in thought, his mind racing to all possible outcomes of _this_.

"And sherlock?" she said, offering up one more kindness than sherlock could have ever expected of her. "If you need me to tell John anything, I will. 

I will vouch for you. He needs to know the truth."

He stopped, hand on the door, " Thank you Molly." He said appreciatively. He couldn't have meant it more, "This is something I need to fix. I've been the one hiding. I should have spoken up sooner. I should have..."

"Sherlock," Molly said, brightening up as if she'd just had a thought, "There is one redeeming thing in all of this!”

Sherlock looked back at her with curiosity. Why was she smiling?

"At least now you know... 

he _really_ likes you, in that way."

Sherlock took pause, "You think so?" His voice daring to contain some hope.

"I know so," Molly said. It was the encouragement he needed.

She patted his arm and walked away after pointing at Harry's number, and gave Sherlock a look that said ‘you know how to fix this’.

His shaking fingers dialed Harry's number again. Begging to any deity that would listen, that she would pick up.

"Harry," he said, "give me two minutes."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because, it's for John's happiness." He held his breath and waited. Taking a leap of faith.

He could hear Harry sigh on the other end of the phone and give in. He had read her correctly then. She really did love her brother, and wasn't just trying to stir things up. _This was her defending John_. _Little lioness._ It fit somehow.

"Fine," she stated, "two minutes. This better be good."

(to be continued...)


	14. ON MY SLEEVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is waiting at Angelo's. What was supposed to be his first real date. But will Watson show?

# PAPER HEART

Chapter 6: On My Sleeve

SEASON FINALE

by helloliriels

Sherlock. Waited. Alone at the table.

Unlike their first time here together, Sherlock had not arrived with John Watson in tow as planned.

And he could feel the absence, with every fiber of his being.

This was NOT how this evening was supposed to have gone.

But he was hoping,

and counting,

on Harry to find a way to get John to arrive somehow.

That was their agreement.

That was _all_ she would promise.

The rest was up to him...

He tried sipping on some water, but his stomach felt so ill, he was afraid even that would come back up if he swallowed. Unwilling to submit himself to _that_ fiasco - he spit it back out into the glass and pushed it away.

He was Ignoring the smells around him. Ignoring the happy smiles on a restaurant full of faces. _Not_ _John_ faces. Ignoring the candle that prominently sat on the middle of the tables that he saw in every other alcove of the room beyond him.

His fingers were tapping on his knee. His knee was bouncing an erratic pattern.

His foot tapping on the ground.

To any onlooker, 

Sherlock would have been seen as a ball of unbridled energy.

Lightning waiting to be directed.

A quasar about to come apart, if given the right catalyst.

A few people looked his way uneasily. He stood out as the only solo attendee on this night _of all nights_. St. Valentine's. A ridiculous holiday, if ever there was one. And certainly not one he had ever intended on celebrating. Except when he found he had wanted to make a statement. A bold, clear statement to the one person that mattered the most to him...

He dared not make eye contact with anyone. No doubt they were all coming to their own conclusions about his missing _other._ And they had no idea how real that felt to him right now. The ring in his pocket made him aware of how much he had set store on this night working out as planned.

Mycroft would laugh at him, had he known...

He should probably try to tone it down he thought, try to look more composed and prepared for this eventuality. But found, he couldn't care less.

What did it matter when anyone else thought?

All that had mattered tonight - that had ever mattered to him - was what John Hamish Watson thought. And Sherlock would commit murder to have some insight into _that_ right at this moment.

But John had not arrived.

Yet.

He looked at his watch for the 111th time.

His eye caught a reflected light off the window and the tin sound of a door closing outside.

A cab was pulled up across the street. About the spot where they had seen and taken chase after a criminal on that first night when they came here together. The thought made him smile and hurt worse at the same time.

It was Watson stepping out of the cab.

Sherlock straightened this shirt front and jacket.

Swept back his curls

Took a swig from his water and swallowed hard.

Angelo had already been by the table 3 times with water and was eyeing Sherlock with a look of concern.

Sherlock ignored him.

Sherlock was watching John intently out the window. To see how he paid the cabby. How he might nod his head, or hand off his tip to the driver. Desperate to read ANYTHING in his demeanor before he made it in the door.

Nothing.

Watson came in.

A cable knit sweater.

And... a umbrella? Was it raining? He looked back outside. No. Sherlock did a double take. It was a cane. John walked up and set it against the wall. Just like he did when... Sherlock patted at the seat next to him, implying for John to sit close.

Not something they normally did.

He thought he'd at least try?

He wanted to be close.

Close enough to read and hear and smell and see everything about the man standing across from him...

Watson elected to take the seat by the window.

To soon then.

He looked bored if anything. Like this whole charade could be dispensed with. And what the hell were we here for?

Angelo made his way over to the table keeping an eye on Sherlock.

Receiving a nod, he placed the waters on the table, along with the menu's. Watson looked up, and -

smiled - a tight smile. Not giving an inch.

Angelo gave Watson a look that Sherlock could not see. Whatever it was, Watson let go a little from his petulant stance and simply nodded in return. No data. 

How to start?

Watson spared him the herculean task of speaking first...

But the first words out of his mouth puzzled Sherlock;

"People in real life don't have arch-enemies." He simply stated.

Sherlock tilted his head assessing John's mental status, briefly.

Parsing the words in several dialects.

Was it a clue?

What did it - Oh. _Oh._

_So_ John was taking this seriously. But clearly not getting WHY they were bothering. So he had abbreviated his early interchange from their first "not date" night. And Sherlock - he remembered it word-for-word.

He formed his reply, in like manner - this could help actually:

"Don't they? 

Seems a pity."

John kept the flow going: "No, they... people - they have... friends -

People they _like,_

People they _don't like..._

_Boy_ friends _..._

_Girl..._ Friends _."_

He finished, and swallowed.

Suddenly needing the water in front of him.

Sherlock eyed him with softening eyes.

"Yes, as I was saying... dull." Sherlock almost whispered.

Watson was looking at the table cloth intently as he asked, "You uh, you _don't_ have a girlfriend, then?"

Sherlock waited to catch Watson's eye. Willing him to _look up_. John had meant _every word_ of that question.

When he finally did look, Sherlock was struck by how much was written on his face. He really did think it had been Molly... and it had crushed him. How had Sherlock failed to show him all this time?

Here he had thought it was a blazing insignia. Something written all over his person. That everyone, including John _HAD to know_. He wore his heart on his sleeve, ready to be torn - ready to be burned, this whole time, and yet... the ONE person it had been for, had really _not known_?

Sherlock was afraid to be too much, but he had already committed to the plan of action. It was all or nothing for him. And he needed to be clear "Girlfriend, no. Women are _definitely_ _not_ my area." Maintaining eye contact. _Willing_ him to understand. _To see._

_\---_

A silent moment passed between them before John seemed to realize the full significance of this statement. Along with the still unbroken eye contact of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes. It was enough to make his head spin.

Sherlock was _waiting._

And John

suddenly

_knew._

He knew why Sherlock had wanted to come _here_.

He knew _why_ Sherlock had wanted to invite _Harry_ this morning.

He knew _why_ Sherlock had wanted _THIS_ conversation. This scenario. This _scene._

Why it was _SO important_. Why it was possibly even, _ALL important_ , to him...

And John slowly, deliberately, stood up -

coming over to post himself before Sherlock, as he gave his scripted reply:

"Right." He drew it out,

"Do you ummm.... 

Do you, have a... a _boyfriend_?"

\---

Sherlock looked up, his eyes on John. John was giving this to him. Just as much as John needed given this.

He saw John's hands tightening and flex. Fold, open, fold. Watson's tell.

He saw Watson swallow. Nervous.

Saw Watson waiting for him to speak. Bravely,

As if awaiting a response from the very Fates themselves.

Sherlock poured his heart out into his reply, taking John's hands as he rose and meeting him eye for eye. "I was really hoping to have something _more_ ," he stated, as he pulled a ring out of his pocket.

He had anticipated the silence.

Emotional conversations

were _not_ something,

after all,

that _they_

did well.

But... he might have just broken

John Watson.

Sherlock stepped closer and dipped his head down to breathe against John's cheek. Possessively holding himself close and protective. Shielding John from the rest of the restaurant full of eyes - people, strangers, corporeal beings that were _somehow... still there?_ _While the world was being rebuilt around them_.

Sherlock only had eyes for John.

John's face was turned away just the slightest bit, hiding his embarrassment of tears. While his body stayed near Sherlock. Turned towards Sherlock. Close. To Sherlock.

In the kindest possible voice, Sherlock spoke one word.

The word that meant _everything_ to him:

"John."

At that John made a sound. Choked with emotion. And gently took the ring from Sherlock's open palm. Turning to bury his face in Sherlock's shoulder. One hand a vice grip on Sherlock' s shirt front. The other simply holding the ring where he could see it.

He was closer than Sherlock had ever dreamed possible. He had simply not allowed himself, to dream.

It was heaven.

After a few quiet moments, Sherlock directed John to sit down next to him. Closer then they would normally, if John would allow it. John scooted closer still.

Sherlock gathered a breath, as if to begin a speech when John held out a hand. "No," he said, "Just, give me a moment." There was an awkward silence then, while John was collecting himself. Again. "I'm sorry Sherlock." He stated, "I've been an idiot..."

"John, " Sherlock said, as if questioning if John could ever truly be an idiot?

"No, I have. I have, " John looked down at his lap, where the ring now sat. "This morning at the coffee shop. What you did. Inviting Harry, Sherlock - Harry told me. It was your idea. It was a lovely idea. You didn't have to hide it." Deciding this wasn't what he meant to say, he amended to "What I mean to say is - Thank you, Sherlock."

He paused a moment, 

"Harry was getting all the right signals apparently. Harry saw something that I had not quite put together... and she told me, but I then came to the wrong conclusions. And then later, when I found you with Molly..." John was kinda laughing, kinda sad now thinking back on it.

"I only wanted help," Sherlock said -

"I know,"

John breathed a heavy sigh, 

"I know _now._ "

Sherlock closed his eyes, nodded. Clearing his throat again. "I'm glad you came."

John echoed, "Yeah...

I'm glad I came." He smiled and shook his head, laughter in his eyes as if he could NOT believe this was how the day had ended. WAS ending...

He licked his lip. And again, stared at the man in front of him. As if taking it all in.

Then John surprised him, once again, by putting his hand over Sherlock's on the table. Intertwining their fingers, and just resting it there. Out in the open.

They were Holding Hands. _For all the world to see._

And several eyes had been watching them, Sherlock noted.

Angelo for one, had been hovering.

He finally came over asking if they needed a few moments? To make their selections? And poured a fresh glass of water for each as he bustled.

John eyed the candles on all the other tables, and turned to Sherlock. A slow grin spreading on his face. He maintained eye contact with Sherlock the entire time as he spoke up loudly, "A candle, please. Angelo."

Angelo stopped and turned back to face them (had they been looking). A huge smile breaking upon his face, as John continued - eyes locked with Sherlock as he leaned in, "I'm his Date."

He said it with a kind of awe.

Placing the ring on his hand (it fit perfectly), and kissing Sherlock Holmes for the first of many times to come. Polite applause around them as the ring was accepted. And Sherlock's cell phone chimed with Lestrade begging their assistance on a case.

Sherlock looked young again, in that moment.

His beauty heightened by the kindness and love found on display there.

A decade of worry and lines, 

fell from the doctor's charming face.

As they began to talk in earnest. Warmer tones, and laughter spilling from their table. In splashes, and ripples that spread across the restaurant. Filling the room. Incandescent. Like the candle that now sat between them. They lit up the room.

As Angelo walked away, the two boys sitting at his table in the corner by the window, were just finishing their first date - that first night, about to run off - out into the star covered London streets.

And a cane

would be waiting abandoned, by the window seat. 

For him to take,

To 221b.

\- The end -


End file.
